Deep black rolaren scalemail

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This item was a prize from the Hunt for History.


some deep black rolaren scalemail


The leather and rolaren of the scalemail have been dyed a deep black that seems to absorb light, rather than reflect it.  The armor has obviously been meticulously cared for, as the metal bears very few nicks or scratches and the color appears as rich as if it were newly dyed.  The joints are just as well-maintained, having obviously been thoughtfully oiled to reduce the amount of noise made while moving.  Stamped into the rolaren of the armor, just above the heart, is the sigil of Ta'Nalfein.


This item is said to have belonged to a group of assassins.


A profound sense of purpose comes over you as you begin to sing. You stare raptly at the scalemail in your hand until your vision begins to blur, and you see the armor as it was when newly crafted, the leather rigid, the joints well-oiled, the black dye so new you begin to smell it wafting up to tingle your nose.

The vision changes and you find yourself in a dark room, lit only by torch light. You see a group of young elves still fresh-faced and green, seated before an older elf, his face lined slightly and a silver scar tracing his cheek. The older elf sits propped against a table, his features animated in discussion and in his hands, he holds a gleaming stiletto. You can almost hear him teaching his students, punctuating his instruction now and then with a quick jab of his weapon, demonstrating the most effective manner and placement of the stiletto against an opponent.

Your vision blurs briefly again, and you now see the elven teacher sparring with the youths, all clad in battered training armor. One by one, the teacher selects a student, directing them to attack him with their most efficient blow. When it is their turn, each of the younger elves slips seamlessly, silently, into the shadows to make a strike that their instructor fends off with lightning speed and well-honed reflexes. When each student has made their attempt, the older elf draws them near and begins an animated critique on the exercise.

Rapidly, the scene changes once more, your eyes drawn to the group of young students assembled around their teacher, listening intently to his words and nodding. In sudden realization, you notice each of the youths is wearing scalemail so black that when they stand still, their bodies are nearly invisible in the darkness of the torch-lighted room. With final words of instruction, the students slip the stilettos they hold into unobtrusive, hidden places on their person, a couple of them practice drawing their weapons carefully, without causing the metal of the blade to rasp. With a nod of confidence from the older elf, the youths stride out of the room on silent feet.